Locura* by Azul Zaffre

A-swirl, locura—blood-red fog
From sea to memories;
Mythical mist, Ghost Harbor—
Widow on her knees.

Wind sashays her skirts
Against weathered walk, gray;
Blusters hair, pewter-winged temples;
Carries prayers, mad-talk away.

Clutched in her hand,
Daguerrotype, silver filigree frame—
Lost love of yesteryear,
Waves whisper-roar his name.

© Azul, 2014

(*Locura—Spanish for madness)

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